


Just A Touch

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, Cursed, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Groping, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean is cursed by a witch, touching Sam is pretty much all he cares about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink prompt: Dean is cursed and can't keep from groping, touching, and/or just simply rubbing Sam's dick in public. He soon decides maybe he doesn't hate witches so much.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

They walk down the main street and Dean’s got his hand on Sam’s dick. Well, he’s trying to have his hand on Sam’s dick. Sam’s skidding away and trying to act casual and giving him this bitchface of the century. Dean just grins, follows Sam across the sidewalk, and clenches his hand onto Sam’s thigh.

“Dean!” Sam hisses and grips Dean’s hand, yanking it away.

“I can’t help it, man!” Dean says, too loud. A woman walking near them glares. “Freaking witches - you saw it.”

“Control yourself.” Is all Sam says in return and he lengthens the distance between them considerably.

Dean thinks he might outright whine at the separation and can’t help but find his way to his brother’s side again. He should probably care about how clingy he’s being, but that seems pushed somewhere deep down in his mind and nothing else matters except for that desire associated with needing to be at Sam. With Sam. Groping, touching, rubbing up against his dick. It’s the pinnacle of everything he sees and needs. Wishes Sam would just hurry up and fucking accept it, because Dean thinks he’s about to die without the touch.

Doesn’t even consider he may be being melodramatic.

With a simple touch the pain is taken completely away, and Dean doesn’t know how he could live without it. Knows deep down just how crazy that is, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. He tries to hold on, presses Sam against the building walls, but Sam keeps trying to squirm away and won’t let him get any sort of grip.

“Please, Sam.” He’s trying not to let his voice sound like he’s begging, but that’s just what the words are and just what he’s doing.

Sam doesn’t laugh or anything like that, instead he gives Dean a look that makes him feel small and needy and horny as fuck all at the same time, and he didn’t know that was even possible. Until now.

They’re getting further into town and Dean just wishes the Impala wasn’t in some impound lot (he’d bust her out tonight, no doubt about it), because right now he wanted her back seat with Sam spread across it and --

Shakes his head, pulled out of thoughts with that reaching pain yanking everywhere in him. Can’t understand why Sam doesn’t just accept this. Not like anyone’s around anymore, it was just that woman and she’s at least ten feet away by now. Can’t see anyone else. He tries to touch Sam again. This time, somehow, Sam seems to let him linger longer. And when he tries to pull away, Dean knows he’s not trying anywhere near as forcefully as he did the last time.

“What’s the matter, Sammy?” Dean murmurs. He twists his wrist and Sam seems to stoop, knees knocking against Dean’s legs. “You’re half-hard, y’know?”

“Dean...” Sounds like it should be cautionary, but Dean rubs his hand up Sam’s dick and his brother’s words trail off into something resembling more a moan than any comprehensible word.

“What?” Dean asks. He feels his own dick rising but, for perhaps the first time in a long while, he doesn’t motion to touch it. All his hands want to do is feel up Sam. Like some young teenager with their first boyfriend.

“C’mere.”

Next thing he knows he’s being yanked into darkness and pressed against cold bricks. It takes him a second to realise Sam’s shoved him into an alley. Another to know Sam’s got a hand around his wrist, belt jingling loose, and then Sam places Dean’s hand right on his almost-hard cock.

“Hurry up,” Sam urges.

Dean can’t if his brother’s annoyed, or pissed off, or even into this at all, but that curse is making everything in Dean pull and ache, and all he can do is let Sam move his hand through his fly and Dean then squeezes.

If Sam wasn’t into it before, he seems to be much more accepting of it right now. A groan fills Dean’s ears as Sam rests his head in the crook of his brother’s neck. Every sound magnified and made just for Dean to hear. Seems like this curse may have affected Sam too, with the way he’s murmuring words and sounds that don’t mean anything. Just make Dean move his hand faster and hooks it over the waistband of Sam’s boxer-briefs, gets skin on skin contact and it’s even better. Like this is what the witches’ curse had the aim of. Can’t think of why they’d want him to have such a wonderful feeling, but he’s not complaining. Not anymore.

Sam then kisses him, something Dean’s forgotten could even happen with everything else going on. And Sam’s a fucking good kisser, Dean’s know that for years. Any other day of the week he’s totally fine just necking like a ninth grader. Well, until Sam picks up on it, gives him a shit-eating grin, and Dean has to keep up appearances by fucking him until he can’t grin anymore. Can’t do much of anything.

So, right now, he tries to focus on kissing as much as he’s focusing on his hand against Sam’s cock. Practically impossible, and he thinks they both know it, because Sam slides away the next second and presses his open mouth to Dean’s neck. He trails up to Dean’s ear right at the moment Dean twists his wrist, and Sam’s letting out an “uh” that sounds louder than it really is. Which is a really fucking big turn on, and Dean finds himself grinding up against Sam’s leg. Like some sort of fucking kid again, but the feel of denim on denim friction erases his thoughts, and he’s not sure how much longer either of them is going to last.

Then Sam’s pushing him away. Dean tries to hold on, hisses “What’cha doin’, Sammy?”, before  he also hears the voices. Their tone isn’t above that of general chatter, but they’re loud, and they’ve gotta be less than a foot away from the alley’s mouth. Dean distracted enough, Sam pulls up his jeans and the sound of him fumbling with his belt is heard.

“Forget it - they won’t see,” Dean says at a half-whisper as he turns his attention back to Sam and tries to get his brother’s belt loose again.

Now that he’s had his hand on Sam’s dick, that wanting from before has magnified by a thousand. Leaves all of him aching and wanting.

Sam’s not letting it happen, though. His hands gently pull at Dean’s and push them away from his body. Sam thinks maybe if he kisses him it’ll change things, woo him back to something, but Sam just arches his neck backwards, and Dean instead can only collide with the tip of his chin instead.

“Sam--” and he no longer cares if he’s whining, or begging, or whatever. They don’t know what this witch has done, what is going to happen with the curse if Dean doesn’t get his needs, and he’s not prepared to find out. “Not gonna let me die, are you?”

He sees something flicker across his brother’s face. And he also hears footsteps. So close now they’re going to have to split this very second to avoid being found. Not that Dean understands why it matters. So what if they’re caught? All he can think about right now is Sam’s cock in his hand, and he can’t imagine how there’s ever been anything more important though, of course, he knows that’s a fucking absurd notion.

“Dammit, Dean --”

He hears those words, but suddenly everything else is happening like, most importantly, Sam’s kissing him again. Dean’s not even about to question his brother’s change of heart and responds happily, letting Sam ram him up against the brickwork and moulding their bodies into one with juust enough room for Dean to have a hand in the middle. Doesn’t even take the time to undo Sam’s belt, just grops and tugs and rubs over the denim. Better than he ever thought it could have been.

He’s vaguely aware of a gasp that isn’t Sam’s from somewhere nearby. Followed by a crack of giggles. Dean just grins against his brother’s mouth and rubs fervently. If the ladies are gonna watch them, so be it. He’s not about to give up the chance to get Sam off in public.

Sam moans into his mouth and Dean takes this as his queue to go faster. No way Sam’s about to let people watch unless he’s really into it; unless he wants it as much as Dean does. His brother’s arms reach down his back, seems to almost try and pull him off his feet to get him harder against the wall, to push them so close space no longer exists. Always been a metaphorical notion, Dean considers, so why not turn it into a physical action?

Then Dean realises just how Sam’s positioned them. Dick to dick. And it feels just as good as using his hand. Dean lets his hand move away, running it under his brother’s shirt and up the warm skin of his back. He thrusts upwards, the movement making them both groan. And if those women are still there, Dean can’t hear them. He just hears his brother’s heavy breathing against his mouth and the slick-wet sound of tongues and lips on each other.

Until Sam cuts it off, deep whine erupting from his throat and his cock jolts beneath his jeans and Dean’s own. That movement and it’s like Dean’s hand has a mind of its own, quickly sliding it’s way back to the non-existent gap between their crotches. Just a touch, just another brush of Sam’s lips against his, and Dean’s legs grow weak as a heat rises in his stomach and rushes out throughout his body. All the while his hand spasm-stops against both of them. Sam has to support him, one arm linked around his waist, and their bodies as still molded into one as Dean comes down from it all. And it’s sticky, and gross, and everything like that, but he can’t help himself from staying next to Sam, from kissing him, from grinning like crazy when they break apart.

He thinks, maybe, this was the ultimate of what the witches’ curse was supposed to do. Maybe, just maybe, they knew the two of them were brothers...and had neglected to know they liked fucking. Thought it was some sort of curse to force them into this. The thought just makes Dean grin something stupid as he pulls Sam from the alley into the deserted street - those women long gone - and while he’s not aching, hurting, not being demanded by something deep inside to keep touching Sam’s dick...

“Dean!” Sam yells, and pulls away.


End file.
